


Scapegraces

by Churro Cart (Krackers)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overwatch Ensemble - Freeform, Overwatch Family, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krackers/pseuds/Churro%20Cart
Summary: A very slow burn fic that examines who Hanzo and Jesse were, who they are, and who they want to be. And, if they're lucky, who they want to help each other be.





	Scapegraces

He remembered what it was like, being a child. The memories were warm, fuzzy, and nearly effervescent - but they were there.

His abuela cooking tortillas over the open flames of the ancient gas stove of her house. The heat and humidity combining, making him sweat as he watched her wizened hands shape the maize, the smell of them cooking making his mouth water something fierce. The sound of her voice, soft a gravely, teaching him a language his parents no longer bothered with.

His father's car pulling into the drive, kicking up dust at the end of a very long summer day. Running out to greet him. Being small enough to be picked up, swung around in a circle. The joy of it all.

His mother pulling her perfume from the bureau, and the sweet scent of jasmine she'd carry with her. The way the smell would linger in rooms after she'd left, like a ghost. The sound of her laughter echoing through their little house.

That laughter didn't last long in his life.

He remembered his mother least of all. She was tall. Her skin was dark, and warm, like his. Sometimes he thought they had the same color eyes. He knew they had the same smile. He wondered sometimes if the similarities were what drove his family apart after she got caught up in one of the Omnic raids near their home. He missed her. Missed the stability she had offered. He was only seven when his life started to fall apart.

He spent more and more time with his abulea, his mother's mother, running wild when he wasn’t forced to go to school, sitting on a stool in her kitchen and watching her cook. Helping her clean the house. Letting her patch him up when he got into too tough a scuffle. He remembered the way she’d sigh, the “Jesse, miho, you’ve got to stop this.” that she’d admonish him with as she wiped his cuts with iodine. She’d look so angry, but her eyes were always kind. She was the only grandparent he had left, and the only bit of kindness most of the time too - he'd took what he could get.

She was gone by the time he was ten.

By twelve he wasn’t speaking to his father unless it was to shout – angry accusations and slinging blame at each other for problems neither one of them had fault in. Both of them were too angry, and too lost to really understand one another anymore. Their last fight was the worst, the most hurtful, and when his father finally took a swing at him, when he finally connected after years of holding back – Jesse decided he’d had enough. His father didn’t apologize when he retreated to his room, didn’t even notice when he started noisily packing his few possessions into a bag. And when he slammed open his window and slid out onto the roof – he was pretty sure his father had already sank back into a bottle. It took him a minute to find his way off the roof, but as soon as he hit the ground he was running, and he never bothered to look back.

He had to rough it for a long time – he ended up being glad he was relatively thin, because it meant he could hide himself away pretty easily. He learned to pickpocket quickly, how to steal food from markets and open stalls without anyone really noticing. He was on his own for a year, working his way from the Louisiana/Texas border town he’d called home for so long all the way to New Mexico. That’s where he found, on complete accident, the place he’d end up letting himself call home.

He picked the wrong pocket outside some shitty bar in Deming, only to have his hand nearly crushed by the one that snatched it, clamping his fingers tightly around the wallet he’d been trying to make off with. He found out later that the guy who’d caught him was called Buck, and that the group in the bar was called the Deadlock Gang and was one of the most dangerous gangs in the Southwest. The leader was a grinning, narrow eyed woman who called herself Lena. And he’d also found out, in time, that she was twice as vicious as any member of her gang, and nearly three times as cunning. 

For some strange reason she’d taken a shine to him. The rest of the gang seemed as shocked as he had been. Honestly he had been kind of expecting to end up in a ditch by the side of the road – he’d been expecting that for months. But instead she’d laughed, given him a once over, and declared “I like this brat’s attitude. Get him outfitted and he can start scouting shit along the ridges for us.”

So he’d found a new place to live, a new “family” he got to work with, live with, and for. Lena made sure he was trained in everything. How to follow people without being seen. How to fight off someone who got too close. How to “shoot a motherfucker” who tried to cross you from nearly any distance. She gave him his first pistol – one from her own personal collection. By the time he was sixteen he was heading his own operations, and he was as shrewd and ruthless and Lena ever was. He was practically her right hand. The only thing that kept him from the official position, if there was one, was his age. And she swore up and down to him that didn't really matter, that the second Ricardo got himself killed the spot would be his.He didn’t have very long to wait.

They’d gotten too big, their arms deals and heists too high profile, and people were starting to take notice. Ricardo was killed in a scuffle with some Overwatch agents during a meeting with a new dealer. Mic and Kara ran afoul of a couple of Marshals. And he had barely scraped away from the cops more times than he could count. By his seventeenth birthday he was second only to Lena herself, and was helping her coordinate most of her shipments across the United States and Mexico. He was pretty sure it was as good as his life was ever going to get, and he was pretty content with that.

Then everything had gone to shit. They were meant to meet with a few agents from a rival gang looking to ally against Overwatch, to keep themselves all afloat in the face of the global onslaught against crime in the wake of the Omnic Crisis. But either Talon had set them up or the whole thing had been a trap to begin with because suddenly their little base of operations was under siege. It only took a few hours, and a lot of dead on either side before their attackers were finally able to get into the café, and to pull the survivors out. He vaguely remembered trying to stab the man who pulled him out from the booth they’d been sheltering under. Vaguely remembered the punch that left him gasping for breath and incredibly dizzy. But what he remembered the most were Lena’s glassy eyes staring at him, blood still oozing from her mouth as they drug him away.

The memories, good and bad, were the only thing that keep him going. He’d been in Overwatch’s care, if it could be called that on any level, for the better part of two weeks. He wasn’t sure where, exactly he was being kept. He knew it was cold, that was for damn sure. He was curled up in a corner of the plain cement cell, thoroughly enjoying the few moments of silence he was apparently being allowed. He just hoped he could fall asleep before the music came back. Sleep deprivation was a bitch. He curled up a little more, not quite able to manage the fetal position with all the bruises and cracked bones his torso was sporting. He cradled his wrist, which he was fairly sure was broken, to him and let his eyes fall closed. He wished his shitty little cot was still in the room, but he’d lost that ‘privilege’ two days in when he’d spit the blood in his mouth straight into his interrogator’s eyes. But fuck that guy anyway. Hearing his indignant scream had been worth it. He’d lost a molar and his bed for that, but it had been worth it.

He smiled a little, and felt himself drifting off into unconsciousness for the first time in a day or two despite his lack of creature comforts. He wondered if they’d keep questioning him whenever he woke up. If he woke up. They hadn’t been able to get anything they wanted out of him in all the time they’d had him. But they were persistent bastards if nothing else.

When he woke again he was being yanked up by his arms, and he felt even worse than he did before he’d managed to drop off. The metallic taste on the back of his tongue was stronger than before, and he wondered if his broken nose had started bleeding at some point during the night. He got his feet under him at some point, though he wasn’t sure if his jelly legs were helping him down the corridors or not. He thought an ankle might be busted too, but he was too numb to tell anymore.

He was brought to a new room, one much further away, and much better lit than the one he’d become so familiar with. The chair was almost comfortable in comparison, though the cuffs still hurt like hell when they were slapped back on. They were tight, and attached just as tight to the table in front of him, making sure he couldn’t attack his captors. Or escape them.

He tried to shift a little in his chair, and grimaced at how much everything hurt, even under the layer of continual numbness his fried nerves had given him. He heard the door shut as the two men who’d drug him down the hall left, and he sighed, looking at the metal grain of the table in front of him rather than around the room. Last few times he’d tried to make out his surroundings he’d gotten hit. And since this seemed to be a very different room than the ones he'd seen before he was even more on guard. He, if anything, was a very quick study in how to keep himself from taking any more damage. He’d been the best at self-preservation for years after all. At least - he was until someone pissed him off. Like the guard he'd spit at. 

“Jesse McCree.” A quiet, smooth voice said behind him, making him jump, then groan when he aggravated his wrist. Definitely broken, and probably not healing right. “Born 2039 in Hidalgo, Texas.” Jesse smirked as the voice started to round him, but he still didn’t look up, even when he heard papers being flipped around, indicating the Voice’s hands must be occupied. He had no trust for these Overwatch dicks. “School records are spotty at best, with more absences noted than good marks. Multiple counts of misdemeanor charges for fighting, disturbing the peace, vandalism, et cetera. Local police noted you for a juvenile detention and rehabilitation program should you be brought in again – but you dropped off the map instead, vanishing at age twelve. Presumed dead until you resurfaced at the New Mexico border in 2053, identified by convenience store cameras after you stuffed quite a bit of food in your bag and took off.” Jessie couldn’t help but smirk at the memory, and the hint of amusement in the Voice’s tone. The expression dropped quickly though, a couple of cuts on his lips tugging uncomfortably when he tried to move them.

“And then you vanish again, for four years this time, until one of my agents drug your sorry ass out from under a table in a diner in the middle of Deadlock territory.” Jesse ignored the provocation, probing his sore teeth with his tongue. He winced when he felt the molar next to the already empty gap in his jaw shift a great deal, and realized it wasn’t actually rooted in his gum anymore. As a matter of fact it was mostly detached. ‘That explains the blood.’ He thought, working the tooth the rest of the way loose while the voice kept speaking.

“We’ve been hearing strange things from your fellow gangbangers. Things about you.” The voice said, definitely smirking now, even if Jesse couldn’t see it. “They’re all much more willing to talk than you, and more willing to take whatever deals we can offer. And they’re saying you were number two in the Deadlock gang. That that tatt on your arm was your leader's gift to you when you took the spot.That, with Lena Marman dead, you’d be the one taking over. Or would be if we hadn’t wiped your asses off the map.” He heard the man shift, sitting down at the table across from him. “I guess my question in all this is – is it true? Did some seventeen year old shit end up second in line for the throne of the Deadlock crime ring? And if you did – how the fuck did you manage it kid?”

Jesse felt a fresh welling of blood in his mouth as the tooth finally popped free from it's last few moorings of flesh, and he waited just a moment before leaning forward to spit it and plenty of blood onto the table in front of him. He stared at the blood slick bone in the middle of the table and suddenly felt weirdly grateful that he was only missing a couple molars now, and nothing up front. He'd still have the smile his abulea had loved so much. He didn’t bother answering the questions. He had a feeling the man already knew most of the answers. There was no real story to tell – just a long trail of violence, and bodies, and lots of drugs and guns and money. He didn’t realize how long the Voice had been quiet until it spoke again, startling him enough to jump again.

“You’re going to get patched up. And once you’re up to snuff – “

“What, you’ll beat me to hell and back all over again?” Jesse snapped. He tried not to be surprised by the hoarseness of his own voice before spitting another wad of blood onto the table and finally, finally looking up at the man that had been talking to him, still seated across from him, and gave him a look he’d only ever reserved for when his father was being a bigger douche than usual. The man was tall, and built, and was wearing mostly blacks and greys, unlike the other Agents he’d been dealing with over the past couple of weeks. His skin was slightly darker than Jesse’s, and he was running his fingers over short cropped, brown hair. He was frowning, the scars on his face stretching a little with the expression.

“So you do speak. We were starting to think you’d been muted at some point. We couldn’t find the scarring though, so we weren’t sure.” He said, studying Jesse for a moment before standing again, leaning forward towards Jesse, his hands planted firmly on the table. “You’re going to get patched up, and then we’re going to have another chat in this room. And you’ll tell me how the fuck a seventeen year old kid became second in command of one of the worst gangs in the U.S., and I’ll tell you what’s going to happen to you. Understood?” He said, slow and sure, pinning Jessie with a look just as fiery as the one he’d been given. Jesses only glared for a moment more before sighing, nodding and spitting out a bit more blood, this time on the floor. He figured he’d swallowed enough of it over the last few weeks. He didn’t need to stomach any more of it. The man nodded, standing up straight and nodding to the two way mirror situated behind him. “Your guards will take you to Medical. You’ll be there as long as needed to get you in working order again. You’ll be restrained, but if you can keep yourself under control, you’ll be comfortable.” He said, and Jesse nodded again, almost frightened by the sudden show of consideration. He was certain, somewhere in the back of his head, that he was going to be drugged and tortured even worse than before, especially since there would be drugs and doctors and “Medical” involved this time around.

A moment later the man was gone, the door opening and admitting the two assholes who’d drug him from his cell earlier and letting the deal maker slip out. He watched them for a moment before sighing, feeling horrifically tired all over again. Whatever sleep he had gotten after being deprived – fuck, it had not helped like he’d hoped it would. In fact, if anything, he felt even worse than before, and the pain his body seemed to concentrate around his chest in an all too constricting manner. They undid his cuffs and stood him up, but his legs were harder to control this time, and they’d barely gotten him out the door when they went out from under him. He thought he might be starting to panic because god he couldn’t breathe no matter how hard he tried, and his vision was swimming – he heard several loud curses as his weight nearly dropped their weird little threesome to the ground, and he made out footsteps, someone’s hands on his neck – then the voice again, but angry and commanding, demanding a stretcher. ‘Who the fuck needs one of those?’ Jesse thought, and then there was nothing but warm blackness.

When he finally opened his eyes again he had no idea how long it had been, but judging by the ache settled in his bones, and the general stiffness when he attempted to shift at all, it had to have been days. He knew he had to be in a hospital room. There was an oxygen mask placed just so over his face, and he had been cleaned up quite a bit. The beard he had been starting to sport was shaved – probably to get to the cuts on his face – and his leg and wrist were both in rather large casts. He had just spotted the IV bags pumping god knew what into his system when a tall blonde woman came bustling into the room, taking one look at him to seemingly assure herself that he was indeed conscious before starting to move rather quickly, checking the machines and noting the readings on her clipboard before finally turning to him with the gentlest expression he’d seen on anyone since he’d lost his abuela.

“Good afternoon Mr. McCree. My name is Dr. Meredith Swanson, head medic here at Overwatch, and I’ve been watching after you.” She said, her voice thickly accented to his ears, but oddly comforting all the same.

Jesse tried to smile, to speak, but all that happened was him reopening a barely healed cut on his lip and a hoarse, barely there croak escaping him. Meredith tutted gently. “Don’t try to speak quite yet, you’ve been out for nearly four days. Your vocal cords have to be quite dry.” She said, standing and retreating from the room for just a moment before returning with a small paper cup. She set it on the side table while Jesse looked on curiously. “I’m going to remove your oxygen mask – we’ll replace it with a cannula in a few minutes. I want you to drink this. Very. Slowly. Time yourself.’ She said, pointing to the clock on the wall across from his bed, ‘It should take you ten to fifteen minutes to finish the cup. No sense in upsetting your stomach just yet, hm?” she said, her voice cheery as she brought her hands up, her movements gentle and slow and very obviously meant to show her every shift so that she didn’t startle him. She reached up and removed the mask, hanging it on the edge of the bed and reaching to turn the flow of oxygen off on the regulation machine. 

Then she handed him the cup, making sure he had ahold of it despite the clip monitors on his fingers and the cast impeding his grip. He took the first sip and it felt like liquid heaven the second it touched his lips. He didn’t know how he was supposed to make the cup last very long – or at least he didn’t until the sip hit his very empty stomach and made him instantly nauseous. “You’ll be ok, just go slow, like I said.” Meredith smiled, standing and smoothing out the white coat over her clothing.

“I – thank you Dr. Swanson.” Jesse managed to rasp, his voice barely even there. The effort though, just made the doctor smile that much more.

“I’ll be right back to replace your oxygen mask, and then we’ll go over your diagnosis and prognosis. Keep working on the water.” She said, putting her hands into her pockets and quietly leaving the room.

She was different, Jesse decided. She had to be. Maybe because she was a doctor and they had that whole - do no harm code. Because every other Overwatch member he’d encountered had been ruthless, brutal, and highly efficient in their violence upon not only his person, but upon his home and family. Well, with the exception of the Voice - but he was sure the man just hadn't been given the chance to start in on him yet. He took another sip of water a rolled it around his mouth for a minute before finally swallowing it.

True to her word, Dr. Swanson was back a few minutes later, an assistant in tow. They adjusted several of the machines, renewed the IV bags, and hooked the new oxygen feed around his face. He felt weirdly old wearing the cannula – young people weren’t supposed to wear them in his head. All the same, the extra burst of oxygen made him feel much better, and relieved a lot of the weird lethargy he’d been unknowingly falling into.

“Feels better doesn’t it?” the assistant smirked, and he nodded, watching her make one final adjustment before handing a datapad over to Meredith and walking out of the room.

“You’ll need to keep on it for a few more days at least, but we’ll see how your levels look as we go.” Meredith said, almost absently as she pulled the chair she had been in earlier back over and sat down once more by his bed. “Right then. Diagnosis.” She sighed, looking rather grim. Jesse decided he liked her. “If at any point while I am going over this – you feel uncomfortable in any way, tell me, and we’ll stop. We’ll skip straight on to your treatments, and I’ll leave a sheet with you later so you can read it at your leisure. Agreed?” She asked, giving him a piercing look.

“Agreed, ma’am.” Jesse rasped, trying to smile at her once more.

“Right. I’ll try to keep this as simple as possible – not everyone can follow when I start using jargon.” She said, chuckling lightly. Meredith was quiet for a moment, reviewing data before she took a deep breath and started speaking in a quick, steady stream that he almost had trouble keeping up with. “When I was called down to the interview rooms you were collapsed in that hall and rapidly falling into shock. The continued blood loss coupled with undetected internal bleeding and the sudden puncture and collapse of one of your lungs meant you were going to die unless we got you into to O.R. as quickly as we could. You were rushed to medical and we scrubbed in and ready to go in just a few minutes time. Also, luckily for you, our operation has access to the most cutting edge in medical tech in our local cluster, so we were able to repair a great deal while you were under.’

‘We managed to reset a few ribs, but had to replace four with synthetic pieces, including the shattered bones that had punctured your lungs.” Jesse reached up to his side, the one where he’d been kicked the most often. He wondered how many of the bones under his hands weren’t actually bones anymore. “We cleared out any remaining fragments and took care of the damage to your kidney and liver and drained the clotted blood from your abdominal cavity. We had to surgically repair your wrist as well – it had been rather badly broken in several places and had already set and begun to heal in probably the worst configuration possible. We believe that with a little therapy you should regain most, if not complete functionality.’ She quipped, a little smile playing across her lips as she glanced up at him, making sure he was still ok. He was feeling slightly faint hearing everything that had been wrong, but somehow he also felt like it was better knowing than not. It almost felt like somehow, she was handing him quite a bit of blackmail material should he really need it. Look at how the great Overwatch treats its prisoners.

“Your ankle was broken as well, and there were a couple of hairline fractures in the same leg. Luckily nothing there needed surgical intervention. We had to re-break and reset your nose, but with our med tech we were able to get it set and healed pretty much perfectly. Though please refrain from doing anything to reinjure the area for at least a month to be sure it took.” She said, making Jesse snort a painful, involuntary laugh. “Last but not least, we wired the broken section of your jaw together and managed to replace your lost teeth in a secondary procedure. We should be able to remove most of the stiches by the end of next week.” She said, putting her notes to the side and giving him a long look.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you woke up as quickly as you did. You were rather severely concussed to top everything off – and we were debating the merits of an old fashioned medical coma to ensure you were able to get the correct amount of restorative sleep, considering all you went through. After we forced your guards to give us their – reports, we were able to adjust your medications and treatments accordingly.” She said, looking grim all over again. Whatever these guards had been, whoever had had him – it sounded like she had had no part of it, and probably strongly disapproved of it as well. Another small comfort. 

“You’ll be in casts for a few more weeks, and, like I said, your stitches will be out probably next. I’ll try to keep them for calling you back to the interview room as long as I can.” She said, giving him her most reassuring smile. “Once you're healed up and your casts are off we’ll get you into a physical therapy regimen to strengthen you back up, and then you should be right as rain, barring any more incidents.”

Jesse finished his water. His voice was doing a little better but the little bit of liquid he’d been allowed had really done nothing but perk up a ridiculous thirst. He set his cup aside the best he could, Meredeth watching him like a hawk.

“So I’ll - be completely healed then? Eventually?” He rasped, giving the doctor a curious look, she smiled again, looking a little relieved. He wondered if they’d told her to expect silence, or maybe even hostile violence. He was more pragmatic than that. Treat other how you wanted to be treated an all that. He only gave what he got.

“Eventually, yes. But it will take quite a bit of work to get there.” She said, standing up once more and adjusting his drip.

“Why are you even bothering? It sounds like all of this is going to take months - and I’ll be ready for prison by then. Or that cell, depending on how much they like what I say. If I say anything.” He said, suddenly feeling more than a little wary. He wouldn’t put it past them to get him in fighting condition again just to break him all over again. Not after what he’d been subjected to.

“I can guarantee you’re not going back in that cell.” Meredith snapped, surprising him with her sudden fury. “Morrison was furious when he found out about you, and he was nothing, and I mean nothing next to Reyes. I thought the man was going to -” she sighed, deflating a little and shaking her head. “There will be inquiries, and internal investigation, and they’ll probably end up restructuring the division those two criminals were from. Good riddance if you ask me.” She said, finishing with her adjustments. “There. You’ll probably drift off in a few minutes. Sleep as much as you need, we’re in no rush to get you back on your feet.” she said, gently patting his leg. “Your press that red button on the rail there when you wake up again.” She pointed the button out and took the empty cup he’d stashed before retreating from the room.

She was completely correct in her assessment and soon whatever drugs he’d been given had him drifting – the pain that had been starting to creep in drifting off with his consciousness.

The next few weeks practically flew by – well Jesse felt they were weeks, but they could have been months for all he knew. But he was slowly weaned from his pain medication and his casts were reset and replaced. He was worked back up to eating and drinking regular food again. And after what felt like no time at all they had him up on crutches, hobbling around the room under Meredith or Susann’s (her intrepid assistant) supervision. The cast wouldn’t be coming off his leg or arm for another few weeks – so it was crutches until they could move to him the actual therapy stuff. It was during one such afternoon of gimping his way around the rather large private room he’d been afforded that he heard Susann trying to head someone off in the hall, to what was obviously little success as the door swung open despite her protests.

Jesse felt whatever weird bubble of warmth and safety he had around him burst – and the reality he’d been trying so hard to ignore come crashing back down around him when the Voice walked in the room, stopping just inside the doorway. Susann was looking extremely pensive just behind him, and gave Meredith a pleading look. “Dr. Swanson, I’m sorry! I tried to - !”

“It’s alright Susann. Please, why don’t you go get me a cup of tea? I have a feeling I’ll be needing it.” Meredith said, smiling at the poor young woman the best she could. “Go on then,” she said gently, giving a little shooing motion, “I’ve got this handled girl.” Susann went scrambling off, leaving the dark haired, black and grey clad figure to close the door behind her.

“Commander Reyes? Perhaps you’d like to take a seat.” Meredith said pointedly, staring at the man, who turned enough to look them both over before taking said seat far closer to the bed than Jesse liked.  
He jumped when he felt Meredith touch his elbow, and only then did he realize he’d both been staring, and shaking like a leaf. He nearly toppled over from the start, but Meredith was right there, keeping him upright. “It’s alright. I’ve got you. We probably just overworked you. Come on then.” Jesse was quite happy to let her strong hand support him as he wobbled back to the bed and sat down, his back to the voice he now had a name for. But despite the thankfulness he scowled, frustrated with himself for showing any weakness to the man. He'd stayed strong in that cell - he should still be strong in a damn hospital room. But then again - this one had seemed different. Like Meredith.

Reyes. The Reyes that had been so furious when he collapsed. The Reyes that had almost done something drastic when he couldn't even finish interviewing him.

He was still shaking, and he had to grip the edge of the bed rather hard with his good hand to keep it from showing. He didn't want to show this weakness but god above could he feel it. He knew it wasn’t overwork. They’d barely started. It was because, somewhere, deep inside of him, he was fucking terrified that everything was entirely too good to be true and that he’d suddenly be back in that cell. That all the work that they’d done to heal him would be broken again and he’d be – oh god he’d be in the sleepless dark and ready to die again. He'd be locked away and seeing Lena's eye every time he closed his and hearing his family dying even over the music.

He didn’t realize how hard or quickly he was breathing until Meredith was holding his hands and coaching him back into a normal pattern. He could feel Reye’s eyes boring into his back, and even though he couldn’t see him he knew he was there and –

“I think, Commander, you’d have better luck coming back another day.” He heard Meredith saying as though from very far away. “My patient, as you can see, is not all fit for interviewing. I told you before, I will be happy to inform you when he is ready.”

There was a long moment of silence, and he almost felt comfortable again before Reyes grunted, making him tense horrifically as the chair squeaked across the linoleum floor.

“I will keep you informed Commander. Please.” She snipped, her voice taking an edge that indicated to Jesse that she’d stopped Reyes from saying anything. He heard a sigh, and then the door was opening and closing once more. Then – blessed goddamn silence.

“I won’t let him back in here anytime soon. I told him you weren’t ready.” Meredith sighed, moving to check him over – pulse, breathing rate, making sure he’d come back from his panic and hadn’t actually hurt himself or strained anything. “I think you’d better rest for today – that sudden blood pressure spike did you no favors.” She tutted, helping him turn and lay down again. She was helping him pull the sheets up when her assistant came back in, nearly making Jesse jump again.

“I –“she started, giving them both a concerned look, “I nearly ran into the Commander – he looked pretty aggravated.” She said, closing the door behind her and moving to put Meredith’s tea on the bedside table.

“And I’m sure that’s an understatement.” Meredith smirked. “Doesn’t like being bossed, that one. Even when it’s for his own damn good.” She added to Jesse, which made him smile, just a little. She was quiet for a moment, fussing over the blankets before giving another sigh. “He’s not the one to be feared, you know. He’s a good man. I promise. And he was beside himself when he found out what happened. ” She said carefully. “He’ll make sure you’re as safe as any of us.” She said, and Jesse nodded, though he was not at all reassured.

He had a few weeks reprieve at least, until the cast was off his leg and he could get around well enough on his own. He was down to wrappings on his wrist, but Jesse figured that amount of ace bandage should just be considered a cast anyway.

It felt like the second he was able to get around the room unassisted Reyes was back, and he caught him alone this time. He was curled up in a chair in front of the window, his leg and arm stretched out as comfortably as he could manage, and a book Meredith had lent him spread out over his lap. He had glanced up, wondering if he had lost track of time and it was already time for his next Physical Therapy appointment, only to freeze in place again once he realized how wrong he was.

“Get dressed.” Reyes said, tossing a bundle of clothing and a pair of boots on the bed. “You’re due down in the interview rooms in ten.” He gave Jesse a long once over, then leaned back against the door, arms crossed over his chest. He obviously wasn’t going to be moving until his orders were followed. Jesse was half curious about what would happen should he refuse. The other man seemed to see the sudden spark of rebellion in his eyes because his expression suddenly shifted into a scowl. “Now, kid. If you miss this meeting there will not be another one.”

Jesse felt himself go cold at the threat, and he thought he had to look like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi as he nodded. He carefully put his book to the side and gathered up the sling he’d left on the window sill, draping it clumsily back over himself before getting up and moving to grab the clothing on his bed. He was almost grateful for them - he was pretty sure the clothing he’d come in in couldn’t be salvaged, and he was getting pretty sick of hospital scrubs, even if these were particularly high quality and comfortable. He took the little bundle to the bathroom and shut himself in, granting himself privacy he knew the Commander wasn’t going to give him otherwise.

He wasn’t sure how they knew his exact size - but after months of captivity, even with most of it spent in medical, he knew he shouldn’t be in the least bit surprised. He pulled on the clothes as quickly as he could, snorting a little as he found the standard issue black briefs hidden between the grey shirt and the black pants. He wondered if this was a uniform - if they only had clothing for grunt soldiers around, or if this was the shit their long term prisoners got to keep. Though he did think it was strange it was the same color scheme Reyes seemed to prefer.

He sighed, shaking his head and forcing his brain off as he dressed. He took a moment to look himself over in the mirror once he had his sling situated, making sure he didn’t look too much like death warmed over. He figured he’d shown enough weakness to these people. It was funny, the thought was like flipping a little switch, and suddenly the fear he had been feeling flooded away, replaced by a slight haze of anger. And it felt much, much better.

When he finally came back out of the bathroom his room was empty and the door was partially open, revealing a slice of the main medical bay just outside. He could hear Reyes and Meredith arguing, their voices quiet, but the tone utterly unmistakable. Knowing sweet, protective Meredith, they’d been having this argument a lot. Probably would have kept having it had Reyes not pushed the issue. So he reached out, and swung the door open, doing his best to make noise and catch attention. The furious whispering stopped and the two looked up at him, Meredith with a smile, and Reyes with a cold, but appraising look.

“About fucking time. Let’s go.” He snapped, straightening up from the bent posture he’d assumed to argue with the Doctor. Meredith opened her mouth to argue again, but Reyes cut her off with a sharp gesture and a shake of his head. “Enough, Doctor. It’s now or never, and we’ve both delayed this too much. Any further and what sway we have is gone.” He said, voice still low and aggravated, which only served to make Jesse that much more curious.

He didn’t have very long to wonder however, before Reyes was motioning for him to follow and walking out of medbay to the hall beyond. He hesitated, glancing back at Meredith. She didn’t smile, but she did shoo him a little, that same way she did Susann from time to time. 

“Go on then. Make sure you keep up with him.” She said, and he nodded, muttering his thanks to her before following after the Commander, feeling quite a bit like a pig being lead to the slaughter.

It was only a few minutes of his quietly limping along behind Reyes when they reached the same interview room they'd left before. He stuttered to a stop in front of the door, and took a deep breath as the Commander swung it open, standing aside to make sure Jesse actually made it into the room. He had to take another very deep breath before he limped in. He was rather surprised when, instead of cuffing him back to the table, Reyes just brushed by him and moved to sit at the table, right in front of a massive two way mirror. He didn't realize that he'd frozen, just staring, until Reyes cleared his throat and gestured to the other seat again. Jesse eyed him like the still wounded animal he was, and moved to the chair, sitting down in a rather slow motion. He could walk, yes, but damn if it didn't still hurt to do so. Meredith had thought he needed a few more weeks of therapy before she'd call him fit. But it seemed whatever trial or punishment or sentence had been handed down couldn't wait anymore. He was going to have to face his fate whether he liked it or not. Before he realized it he was staring at the table again, falling back on learned defense mechanisms in his discomfort. He couldn't help but jump when the folder full of papers that had been cradled under his captor's arm fell with a slap onto the metal surface between them. 

"So. You had a go at escaping huh? Body bag isn't exactly the method I'd choose, but if you've got to find a way - " Reyes said, the joke obvious in his suddenly congenial tone. It was so out of place that Jesse couldn't help but look up and give him a look like he was out of his mind. Reyes just laughed, leaning forward, his elbows supporting his weight while his arms crossed in front of him. "But lucky for us, we have some of the best medical staff around. You're not getting away that easy kid." Jesse scowled at that, biting his tongue to keep himself from lashing out, from saying anything stupid that might land him back in that tiny cell. Back with the men who worked with this man. Reyes just laughed again. 

"Look - kid." Reyes said, leaning back again. 

"I'm not a kid." Jesse muttered under his breath, still glaring at the other man.

"Come again?" Reyes smirked, though everything about him took a sudden dangerous edge. Jesse found it funny that he suddenly didn't care. He figured he couldn't make it that much worse for himself, honestly. Either he'd end up in that cell, or he wouldn't. Either way he was probably dead. He took another deep breath. Slow. Steady. 

"I said, I am not a kid." He growled, glad his voice had deepened considerably during his last year with Deadlock. It made him feel like he sounded far more intimidating than he actually was. Reyes, however, was still smiling. More if it was possible. 

"You're 17, _kid_." He said, opening the folder on the table with a flick of his wrist, revealing what seemed to be a very detailed dossier on him. "You're not even legal for another three months. Even then - 18 isn't that old. You're a child." 

"Ojalá tuviera más dientes para escupirte, cabrón." Jesse hissed, forcing himself to feel the anger, to let it roll through him instead of letting the creeping fear in the back of his head take over again. It was almost like being back in his first few fights when he was truly a child. He felt more than a little gobsmacked when the dangerous smile softened. He blinked, leaning back into his chair, though he kept the scowl. 

"I'm glad you don't." He flipped another page, and a picture was revealed, one that put Jesse's heart in his throat. It was him, obviously just post op, hooked to a dozen machines and stitched and bandaged to hell and back. His nose hadn't been fixed yet, and his wrist and ankle weren't in their casts - he barely looked alive. "Those men weren't acting under any orders other than their own." he said, shaking his head. "We should have been keeping a better eye on them. And on you. That's on us. _I_ should have known to put them anywhere but around you." Reye s sighed, flipping to another picture, this one smaller, and attached to the upper corner of what looked like an official report. "You see, we sent five squads to take down your gang. Thirty men and women. We thought it would be enough. We had the training and the tactics after all. And it was. Barely." He said as Jesse leaned in, curiosity getting the better of him. The picture took a moment to register, but when it did he wanted to retch. 

It was the little cafe that they'd had to turn into a bunker. It looked bombed out, most of the windows shattered, chunks of the walls missing in some places. The door hung open, nearly off its hinges. And there were bodies. A lot of bodies. There had been nearly 60 members of Deadlock at home that day. A little less than half their numbers. Most had been out running whatever work Lena had given them. And Jesse was pretty sure most of them were dead on the ground by the time the fighting was over. Suddenly a few more photos were spread out on the table, showing a mix of the men Reyes had sent and his own, finally finding equal ground in death. 

"The two men assigned to you were from the same unit. And they were the only ones from it who survived the strike." the words were slow, methodically placed so that there was no way Jesse could miss the meaning behind them. The two who'd been in charge of keeping a simple watch on a prisoner had turned into his torturers because they blamed him. Blamed him for everything spread out in front of him. Jesse couldn't help but feel, looking at all the destruction, like maybe they had been right. "Only twelve of the thirty made it back. Less than half. And they decided to take that out on you. And I am sorry that we didn't catch on to what was going on until it was almost too late." He found it funny that the man actually sounded contrite. Jesse smirked, looking back up at Reyes. 

"No you're not. You Overwatch assholes had been gunning for us for years." he leaned back, trying to make himself a little more comfortable in his stiff metal chair. "Congratulations. You cut the head off the snake. And from what I managed to pick up you've been doing clean up since. Deadlock as we knew it is gone. You got what you wanted. And you'll never be sorry for that."

Reyes gave him a long look before pulling out one more picture and flipping it across the table. Jesse forced himself to remain impassive as he looked back down at Lena's glassy stare again - his nightmares come back to his waking hours to haunt him. He could still feel her blood covering his hands and they tried to staunch the flow from the gut shot that finally proved to be the end of her. By the time they'd shored up under the table, out of ammo and out of options, she'd realized she wasn't going to make it. She'd apologized too. Her hand reaching up and streaking blood across his face as he hissed at her to hang on over the sound of breaking glass and metal. She said she was sorry she hadn't been able to leave him more. The empire they'd been scheming about for ages. She was sorry she was leaving him behind. And then she was gone, and her glassy eyes were watching him as three sets of hands reach under the table of the booth to grab him, dragging him from her. He'd whipped out his knife and slammed it into one of the soldiers, but it hadn't been enough. Lena was gone. He was trapped, and home was gone. 

"According to some reports we did. And no, I don't suppose I'll be sorry for taking down a group of hardened criminals. That is my job after all." Reyes said, snapping Jesse from his thoughts. "But according to others - the 'head of the snake' is sitting right in front of me. Caged, sure, but not gone. And quite a bit of Deadlock is still out there waiting for him to show back up." He looked calculating, "After one of my teams took down Lena Marman's right hand man we thought we had an upper hand. At least we did until an informant told us Ricardo had been on the way out. And some - kid had already taken his place, whether he'd known it or not." Reyes shifted slightly, looking over his shoulder before sighing and gathering the photos and papers on the table back up and stacking them neatly into the manila folder. "We already know all about you. Your past, your greatest hits with Deadlock. We know Lena kept you close. And we also know that the ballistics on the gun you'd been using in the fighting matches eight of the men downed. Now these were highly trained operatives. And it took quite a bit to take any one of them down. But you - you shot nearly half of my KIA list with surgical precision - with a fucking pistol." Reyes said, sounding somewhere between utterly baffled and impressed. "So - tell me know you learned to shoot like that. And why Marman trusted someone who could."

Jesse snorted, and reached to fiddle with the strap of his sling where it was cutting into his neck. "What can I say? I'm a natural.And she always liked someone who could outshoot her without putting a bullet in her back in the process." He quipped, all sass and snark and heavy drawl. Lena had always laughed at him when he was angry - called him Tex just to piss him off more and make those lazy sounds take back over his voice.

"That may be. But you don't go from a thirteen year old to a crackshot that can down top operatives in just a couple of years teaching yourself." Reyes smirked, leaning forward again. "So come on. Tell me. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?" The look of genuine interest on his face made some of the anger bleed from Jesse, and he let out a breath, laughing on his sigh before leaning forward a little himself. Or at least sitting up a little straighter. 

"I'm a natural." he said, raising his shoulders in a awkward shrug. "Lena said so herself. For some reason she'd taken a shine to me, a skinny little spitfuck from nowhere. She took me under her wing and decided she was going to teach me everything she fuckin' knew. I think she saw this kid facing everything on his own and saw herself. I don't know.'

'And then one day she was slappin' a gun in my hand and tellin' me to shoot a bunch of targets they had set up out back. She stood there and watched me as I shot down every one of them. I wasn't all that fast. But I did it. And I didn't miss any of them. She started training me herself after that. Every day. So I wasn't entirely self taught, but I really only needed a few nudges in the right direction." He said, shrugging at the skeptical look on Reyes's face. "I'd be happy to demonstrate, but ya'll kinda fucked up my shootin' hand." He lifted his still injured wrist for emphasis. 

"Eh. We'll just have to wait a couple weeks. Meredith said you were nearly ready to be discharged anyway." Reyes said, giving a shrug of his own and sitting back in his seat. There was quiet in the room for a few moments, both of them eyeing the other up. Reyes broke the semi staring contest first though, sighing and crossing his arms on the table, leaning his weight on them. "Look. I am sorry for what happened to you. I know you probably don't believe me, but I am. And I do believe that you're a kid who did what he had to do to survive the hand you were dealt. And you're damn lucky I do right now or neither one of us would be here." He flicked his gaze up to Jesse before returning to the folder again and pulling out a rather thick portion of the papers. "These are all of Meredith's notes. She gives you glowing reviews at every turn. Calls you kind to a fault under the bravado and worth rehabilitation. Between these notes and my evaluation - we might just be able to save you kid." 

"Save me?" Jesse snorted, his lips curling into a smile before he felt himself laughing, truly laughing for the first time in ages. "This doesn't seem very fuckin' saved to me." 

"You have no idea." Reyes smirked, letting the stack he had been holding drop back to the table with a resounding thwap. "You see once the UN figured out we had the second in command to one of America's biggest and most troublesome gangs in custody, they decided they wanted you. So they tried you. In absentia." 

"In what now?" Jesse shook his head a little, but Reyes was already answering his half formed question before his racing mind could catch up with the information suddenly being dropped on him. 

"In absentia. Means they could hold the whole criminal trial without you ever setting foot in a courtroom. And they found you guilty kid. Of a lot of bad shit." He said, watching Jesse's reactions like a hawk. It made him feel like an ant stuck under a magnifying glass. "We're running against a deadline. Because you see, I have authority to "conscript"' he said, giving little air quotes around the word Jesse was already hating, 'whoever I determine valuable to my operation. And I happen to think you would do nicely under our command instead of stuck in a UN prison. And do not doubt that you would be in that prison for the rest of your life."

He felt like his ears were ringing in the wake of the Commander's words. After taking so much control of his life - running from his father, living on his own. Even when he'd stumbled into Deadlock he'd made the choice the work his way up, to do his damn best to be _the_ best. And here he was again. Being forced to choose. Prison, and whatever life he would find there and after. Or...

"You seriously want me to work for Overwatch? _Me_?" 

"No." 

Jesse gave the Commander a sharp look, feeling both anger and confusion well up in him when he was the other man smiling at him like he was in on some sort of joke that he was the butt of. 

"Do I look like I work for Overwatch? Crisp blue uniforms and clean cut?" Reyes said, giving a laugh as he did. "No. Not Overwatch. I work for a separate division. We never get any recognition, but you bet your ass we're the ones doing all the dirty work. But, the upside is we have to answer a lot less questions. We spy, infiltrate, sabotage, perform surgical strikes. We're the ones who scout things out and take the suicide missions Overwatch can't been seen associating with. But at the end of the day, we're the ones who keep most of this damn operation on its feet. You'll get travel time, benefits, fuck, you'll even get sick leave. You'll get a team that won't stab you in the back the second you turn it. And, as a bonus, you'll get to shoot again. Interested?"

There was quiet for a long moment while Jesse thought, or at least tried to gather his thoughts. Honestly, it sounded a lot like a more organized and sanctioned version of the gang he'd already been in. But there was no Lena. No weird, psychotic little family he'd built for himself. He'd never get any of that back. But it was this - this strange offer from a man he wasn't sure he trusted - or facing a lifetime living like he had in that little cell with those rogue agents.

"Not much of a choice for me is there?" He shrugged, trying his best to look nonchalant despite his still lingering injuries and the weird hope still sort of bubbling in his chest, over everything else he was feeling. "Rot in a cell or be one of your no-account heroes." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, and forced a look on his face that he was sure was more cockier and braver than he was feeling by far. "I guess I'll take the job then." 

Reyes laughed, then shot a triumphant look over his shoulder to the two-way mirror. "Commander Morrison and I may have had a bet going. He made me prepare all these speeches and back up offers for when you refused. But I told him - " he said, grinning as he stood and moved towards the door, gesturing for Jesse to follow as he did. "I told him that if we promised to give you a gun and you'd be in." He held out his hand as Jesse made it to the door, and the younger man stared at it for a moment before accepting the rather firm shake. 

"Looks like he owes me quite a bit of money." Reyes said, letting his hand go and opening the door to the hall. He started walking back down the way they'd come, and Jesse followed along, feeling quite a bit like a lost, kicked up puppy as he did. "You'll probably be discharged in a day or two. Then we'll get your rooms and training schedule sorted. If possible, I'd like you operation ready in five to six weeks." He said, stopping once they'd reached the medical corridor once more. "There's been some weird shit coming out of South Korea lately and I think I'd like you along with the team when we deploy." Reyes smiled again, clapping Jesse on the shoulder before motioning for him to go back back into the ward. "Welcome to Blackwatch McCree, I think you'll like it here."

"Thanks." Jesse snorted, opening the door. He paused, struck by a sudden thought that had him turning on his heel to look a confused looking Reyes dead in the eye. "Can I have one request? Before we induct my ass into your little order?"

"...Sure?" the Commander responded, his brows creasing as he somehow managed to convey in a single word that he was already regretting voicing the agreement. Jesse didn't know why he would - what he wanted was simple enough.

"Can you find my hat?"

When Reyes just tilted his head back and laughed, hard and long, Jesse knew for certain he'd made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ojalá tuviera más dientes para escupirte, cabrón. - "I wish I had more teeth to spit at you, bastard."

**Author's Note:**

> It's taken me a year to work up the courage to start throwing this fic out into the world - I hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> Next Chapter - Composure - will be up soon!


End file.
